


there's something beautiful (and tragic) in the fall out

by sirenofodysseus



Series: Cavalier [2]
Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Apocalypse - y/n, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Trust Issues, crackish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 00:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4939060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wainwright’s expression soured. Apparently, she had forgotten that she had also attempted to part him with two of his fingers prior to “loosening” his restraints. But whatever. “You obviously didn’t come in here for the ambiance, Martins; so, what do you really want?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's something beautiful (and tragic) in the fall out

**Author's Note:**

> Filling my h/c bingo square of, "Trust Issues"...because let's face it, this group has A LOT of trust issues going on.

Easing himself onto the decrepit couch, Ray shook his head at the shiner on Craig’s cheek. Oblivious to the stare, Craig continued to study the book within his hands until Ray had cleared his throat.  

Craig eyed him. “What?”

 

                “I’m just wondering how you got your _latest_ war wound,” Ray asked him coolly and Craig grimaced.

 

                “My ex-fiancée obviously has a decent right-hook,” Craig retorted, rolling his eyes. Ray opened his mouth in displeasure, but Craig waved him off before he could say a word. “And _please_ , spare me the fucking lecture. It’s not my fault she obviously enjoys blood sports and I don’t.” Craig moved one of his hands to rub at his bruised cheek.

 

                “Is it _truly_ that difficult to just—I don’t know—say _I’m sorry_ and move on?” Ray asked, forcing his arms against his chest in displeasure. “Or, learn how to handle her somewhat better?”

 

Craig looked mildly offended. “We’re in the middle of a _robot apocalypse_ and you’re attempting to give me pointers on my personal life?” He snorted. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t hit women, and I certainly don’t need advice from the forty-year-old virgin.”

               

                “He doesn’t hit women,” Lorelei finally agreed, her head rested in Craig’s lap. “He just shoots them instead.”

 

::::

 

                “You’re thinking about him again,” Grace’s chipper voice interrupted her thoughts for the _millionth_ time in three days and Lisbon, so focused on _not_ thinking about Jane, merely rolled her eyes and crossed her arms against her chest.

 

                “No,” Lisbon argued from her cot, which had been _graciously_ provided by Haffner after hours of _we are not sleeping in the same room as you_ and _but it is for your own protection_ arguments. “I’m just thinking about trust falls.”

 

And to some extent, she _was_. If Jane _had_ been there, Lisbon believed he would have forced them all into doing trust falls. She tried to imagine herself falling into the arms of Haffner, O’Laughlin or Martins, but all she kept imagining was the inevitable pain in her ass from the fall. 

 

Grace eyed her oddly. “I know we’re in a dire situation here, boss, but…?”

 

                “It was just a ridiculous thought, Van Pelt,” Lisbon said, shaking her head. “Forget I said anything.” Grace said nothing.

 

::::

 

Wainwright eyed Martins, who had joined him at the sham of a kitchen table.

 

                “I’m surprised you aren’t hiding out with the rest of your _team_ ,” Martins idly commented, sipping from her chipped mug. Wainwright kept silent for a few moments before he shrugged. “Although, I can’t imagine you fancy enclosed spaces as much as you used to anyway.”

 

                “What do you want, Martins?”

 

Martins frowned at him. “That’s not how you treat an old friend, Agent Wainwright.” Martins smiled brightly at him and he snorted. “In case you’ve forgotten, _Luther_ , Red John wanted to kill you. I saved your life, so try and be just a little more appreciative.”

 

Wainwright’s expression soured. Apparently, she had forgotten that she had also attempted to part him with two of his fingers prior to “loosening” his restraints. But whatever. “You obviously didn’t come in here for the ambiance, Martins; so, what do you really want?”

 

Martins smiled warmly at him. “I’m glad you asked, Luther.” She stopped to glance at him. “Do you mind if I call you, Luther?” Wainwright stared. “Anyway, our esteemed host is tiring of the antics between Craig and Agent Van Pelt. Apparently, he’s not much into blood sports.” Martins snorted and Wainwright blinked. Was she insane? “I know you’re not my biggest fan, Luther, but I’d really enjoy if you could get Agent Van Pelt to lay off Craig for a while.”

 

                “You know he deserves it,” Wainwright replied without hesitation. Martins shrugged. “I read the case file, Martins.  O’Laughlin _attempted_ to kill Agents Lisbon, Van Pelt and Hightower…”

 

                “Did the case file tell you that O’Laughlin is gay?” Martins asked, glancing down at her fingernails. Wainwright sputtered. “I didn’t think so.”

 

::::

 

                “You told him I was gay?” Craig asked, crossing paths with Lorelei in the kitchen hours later.  “Why in the hell would you tell him I was gay?” Lorelei almost laughed. Craig was cute (in a robust way) when he was angry.

 

Lorelei rolled her eyes, motioning for him to join her at the table. He did so, pouting. “Because you are?” Craig opened his mouth to argue with her, but Lorelei fixed him with her _don’t-you-even_ stare. “You’re going to honestly tell me that you _aren’t_ gay and the _only_ reason you attempted to kill Agent Van Pelt was because Red John ordered you to?” Craig nodded slowly and Lorelei snorted. “I’ll believe that when the robots outside start doing the Macarena, O’Laughlin.”

 

                “We’ve had sex twice!” Craig objected.

 

                “It was _awful_ sex,” Lorelei corrected. “You cried.” Although, after sex with Patrick Jane—anybody could be considered _mediocre_ (especially sex with Craig O’Laughlin). “It was the week after you technically died, so I guess I can’t exactly blame you _if_ you cried.” Even if she technically did.

 

                “I didn’t cry.”

 

                “Well, _somebody_ cried,” she explained, crossing her arms against her chest. “And it certainly wasn’t me.”

 

Craig rolled his eyes. “Whatever would I do without you, Lore?”

 

                “Still be in denial that you aren’t gay?” Craig narrowed his eyes and she smiled sweetly. “It’s okay, Craig. I doubt Luther will be jumping you anytime soon, so I think your secret is safe between the three of us.”

 

                “For the last time, Lorelei, I’m not actually gay!”

 

::::

 

                “…I’m not saying you _shouldn’t_ hate him, Agent Van Pelt,” Wainwright attempted to pacify Grace, who stared at him in annoyance from her cot. “I’m just saying that _maybe_ you shouldn’t be attempting to run him out of here.”

 

                “He tried to _kill_ Lisbon and I,” Grace explained. “So, I’m pretty sure that’s a good enough reason to want him dead.”

 

                “She does have a valid point,” Lisbon conceded after a moment of silence.

 

Wainwright sighed.  “You’re supposed to be the voice of irrefutable logic here, Agent Lisbon.”

 

Lisbon shrugged. “There are robots outside, conquering the state of California, and you want to talk about logic? Be my guest, by all means.”  

 

                “There’s no need to be so melodramatic, Agent Lisbon,” he commented with an eye roll. 

::::

 

                “Apparently, California’s in a State of Emergency,” Haffner explained to the group, after he had managed to bring them all into the common living space to share the “good” news.

 

                “ _Just_ a State of Emergency?” Lisbon asked, clearly in disbelief. “How do you call _that_ ,” she motioned toward the walls, aiming toward the outside, _“_ just a State of Emergency?”

 

                “I still say it’s the apocalypse,” O’Laughlin muttered from his spot on the couch, forcing everyone to glance at him. “You know I’m not the _only_ person thinking that,” he defended himself. “Even the President is probably thinking of ways to annex California.” They all stopped to reflect on _that_ point for a minute, even though it sounded purely fictional, before Grace shook her head.

 

                “How do you translate State of Emergency into _the fucking apocalypse_?” Grace asked, squeezing one of the vibrant couch cushions to her chest.

 

“You add a letter?” O’Laughlin offered, forcing Martins to smack him upside the head. “Ouch, Lore! She asked how to translate it!” He grimaced and rubbed at the back of his head. “State of Emergency has 16 letters, while _fucking apocalypse_ has 17.”  

               

Grace tossed the cushion at him, narrowly missing his face. “That’s awful, even for _you_.”

 

::::

 

Before Wainwright could turn the corner, O’Laughlin grabbed onto his arm and shoved him into the supply closet.

 

                “Do you _and_ Martins both operate on the principle of causing premature heart attacks?” Wainwright asked, after he had pried his arm free from O’Laughlin’s grasp. “No offense, O’Laughlin, but I’d _like_ to walk around here without actively fearing for my life.” He forced himself to take a _few_ deep breaths to calm his heart down, as he _really_ didn’t appreciate all of this.

 

O’Laughlin chuckled. “What do you all think I’m capable of, really?”

 

                “You once worked for Red John,” Wainwright pointed out.

 

                “So?” O’Laughlin asked, leaning against one of the shelves with his arms crossed. “I also once owned a parakeet, but that certainly doesn’t make me a bird lover.” Wainwright opened his mouth to comment, but O’Laughlin shushed him. “Look, I just wanted to _thank you_ for speaking to Grace on my behalf.”

 

                “And you couldn’t _thank_ me outside of this dank supply closet?”  

 

                “Just be happy I’m thanking you at all, really,” O’Laughlin replied, grinning. “I could be killing you, instead.”

 

                “Funny, O’Laughlin, funny.” 


End file.
